


private playlists

by heartburns



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, Confessions, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Secret Crush, Songfic, Swearing, bev is a goddess, eddie uses music for his feelings, that’s relatable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-01 17:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartburns/pseuds/heartburns
Summary: Edward Kaspbrak is sappy little fucker. He has a playlist tailor-made for each of his friends, but only Beverly has access.Richard Tozier is a nosy little fucker. He’ll do anything to get a good look at Eddie’s Spotify, but he may not find what he expects.





	1. world unfair

Derry, Maine is an absolute shithole. This is no secret, just pure, accepted fact. But the town itself is practically inescapable, so most keep their mouths shut and trudge through daily life in silent, expectant misery. In Richie Tozier’s eyes, however, Derry has but two saving graces: his wonderful friends and Barry’s Burger Joint.

Barry Morris is a sweaty, unmarried forty-something with a thick New York accent and an affinity for being a bit of a mess. He sure can cook up a mean burger, though, and he opened up his little restaurant the week he moved from Queens. The place itself is a total hole-in-the-wall, but the food is top-tier and Richie absolutely adores it. It’s tucked away in the corner between Mr. Keene’s pharmacy and the frozen yogurt place, which also stands to be impeccable. In essence, it’s perfect.

The second the last bell rang and summer officially began, Bill and Bev slapped their applications on Barry’s desk and were both promptly hired. “Was it a requirement for every employee’s name to start with B?” Richie joked when they told him, seemingly proud of himself, and then Eddie rolled his eyes tiredly and told him to shut up.

That’s where he’s headed now, Barry’s Burger Joint, head bobbing along to the radio and fingers tapping out the beat wildly on the steering wheel. Eddie is sitting warily next to him in the passenger side, Stan and Ben being unhappily demoted to the backseat. He’s not sure how Eddie managed to ride shotgun, given that he’s the shortest among them, but it’s not like he’s complaining. Richie’s got the sunroof open and they’re shouting the lyrics at the top of their lungs and Eddie’s cheeks are tinted slightly pink from the simple exhilaration of being stupid teenagers. Speaking of, he’s sure the entire block can hear him blasting Buddy Holly as they tear down the asphalt, but he can’t bring himself to stop (or care). Hell, it’s a good fucking song, and in his opinion, anyone’s lucky to experience Richie’s music taste.

“We’re here,” he announces, turning down the volume dial and pulling into the lot. There’s the familiar clicks of seatbelts and slamming car doors as they all pile out of Richie’s truck, affectionately called Baby. It’s piece of junk, really, but Richie treats her like a prized possession anyway. He’d be damned if he doesn’t love his car.

A bell chimes above their heads when Ben pushes the door open, and Bev perks up immediately from behind the counter. “Hey, guys!” she croons. She’s got her uniform on: a simple red hat, a black apron tied around her waist, and a yellow t-shirt with the word Barry’s printed across the front. It’s not exactly glamorous, but Ben is drooling regardless. That’s typical as of late, though. Richie glances over at Stan and Eddie, who both smirk before placing their orders. Ben wants a cheeseburger with fries, and Stan, the lameass that he is, settles for a salad.

“Sweet Bevvie,” Richie purrs, resting his elbows easily on the counter when it’s his turn. “I’ll take a burger and and a choccy milkshake, if you please.”

Bev rings it up stiffly. “That’ll be nine-seventy, sir.”

Richie is incredulous. “What? I thought you said I could get a free meal if I did your Trig homework last month!”

“Sorry about it.” She smiled, sickly sweet. “Barry’s lenient on most things but definitely not about how much money comes through this here register.”

Richie huffs, pulling out his wallet and thumbing through it. “Not even a discount? That’s fucking cold, Marsh,” he grumbles, bristling with irritation much like a small child. He hands her his last ten dollar bill, and Bev slides the change across the counter without another word.

“You’re up, Spaghetti Head,” he says to Eddie, who’s last to order. “But don’t expect shit from Bev. Guess she’s not our friend after all.” He sticks his nose haughtily in the air, and Stan’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Quit being such a drama queen, Richie, and come sit.”

And Richie is going to, he really is, except all of a sudden he catches Bev saying, honey-smooth, “Of course you can eat free, Eddie.”

Oh, hell no.

“E-fucking-nough!” he screeches, storming back to the counter in two long strides. “What the actual _fuck_?”

Eddie blinks, faux-innocent. “Something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s _wrong_ ,” he hisses. “I’m being fucking discriminated against by my own best friends. You know what? I’m filing a report. I’m calling your manager. I’m — how come he gets a free meal and I don’t?”

Bev looks three seconds from losing it. “‘Cause he did a good thing for me.”

“But that’s not fair,” Richie whines. Eddie’s eyes dance with amusement from beside him. “I did something good! I did your Trig homework.”

“Eddie’s thing was better.”

“Yeah? What’d he do that was so goddamn special?”

“Bev…” Eddie warns at the same moment Richie realizes he should probably calm down, but he was in far too deep. He couldn’t back out now.

“He finally let me listen to his Spotify playlists. You know he has one for each of us, right? They’ve all got different songs, and it’s really cute and sappy and shit. I loved it, so now I’m rewarding him and paying for his food.”

“ _Beverly_ ,” Eddie groans, head in his hands. He has a you-weren’t-supposed-to-say-that look on his cherry-red face.

“Oh my God, really?” Ben asks, clearly having gotten up from his seat to join in on the conundrum. “That’s so sweet, Eddie.”

Stan’s there too now, and he smiles. “Yeah. I can’t believe you have one for each of us. That’s amazing.”

“Amazing I haven’t heard them yet,” Richie interjects quickly. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting a bit that he let Bev listen before him.

“Oh, it’s more of, like, a private thing. I mean, I have them on private. Only Bev can see them.” Eddie rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and makes a point not to look his friends in the eye.

Something like jealousy boils deeply in Richie’s stomach. Why was Bev the Chosen One? How come he didn’t ask Richie if he wanted to hear? Did he like Beverly more than him? They’re childish thoughts, he knows it, but he can’t help having them.

“Message received,” Richie says. It comes out more bitter than he intended, and they all turn to stare at him. “Loud and clear. Bev and Eds are BFF’s, and the rest of us can never compare. Sorry for interrupting this cute little buddy system or whatever-the-fuck you’ve got going on here.”

With that, he lumbers over to the booth, plops himself down, and promptly sulks. Eddie, Ben, and Stan try to engage themselves in some form of conversation when they join him, but it’s futile with Richie acting like that, and they lapse back into an uncomfortable silence. When Bill emerges from the kitchen to deliver their orders, he jokes, “Hey, s-some fight break out or s-something? R-Richie looks like he wants to suh-strangle s-someone.”

Eddie slams his head down loudly on the table, and Richie’s fries go cold.

 

It’s one in the morning when Richie finally does something about it. He’s pacing his room, unable to stop thinking about stupid Eddie Kaspbrak and his stupid little playlists, when he firmly decides he’ll do just about anything to listen to them. This leads him to snatch his phone up from his bed, open up his Favorites tab, and call Benjamin Hanscom.

It rings and rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. Richie calls again. Ben finally picks up.

“Hello?”

“‘Sup, Ben Handsome? How are you on this fine summer evenin’?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Richie. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s peachy, just fine. Just fine.”

He can hear Ben sigh from the other end. “Why did you call me, Richie?”

“Alright, I’ll cut the bullshit. You know how Eddie has those Spotify playlists for us?”

“Yeah?”

“And you know how I really, really want to listen to them?”

“Yeah?” Ben did not like where this was going.

“Well, I need a favor.”

When Richie is done explaining, Ben says, “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, Haystack, do this one thing for me. I’ll give you a huge discount on that pink guitar your sister wants.”

There’s an elongated pause, like Ben is considering it. “...Fine. But you really owe me one.”

Richie’s smile seeps clearly into his voice. “That I do, Benny Boy. That I do.”


	2. sour sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to listen to the songs as you read if you’d like, but it’s not necessary or anything.
> 
> also, this chapter goes heavy on the italics. fair warning.
> 
> enjoy!

“So, what the fuck is that and why are you doing it again? It was still summer the last time I checked.”

Richie is sprawled lazily across Beverly’s bedspread, twirling a cherry-flavored lollipop around in his mouth and pretending he’s forgiven her for the incident at Barry’s Burger Joint two days prior. She’s got the audacity to be busily working away at some assignment in the thick heat of June.

“It’s called college apps, asshole,” Bev replies with a _tsk_ , erasing something on her paper with fervor.

“Yeah, it’s summer, as I recall, and it’s also the summer _before_ senior year. Do you gotta be doing this right now, at this very second, while I’m literally hanging out with you in your room?” Richie makes sure to sound convincingly annoyed; he doesn’t want her to know he’s actually terrified for her to leave him.

Bev says nothing, pursing her lips in concentration and furrowing her brow. Her full focus is turned to the paper in front of her.

Richie decides this is as good a time as any and pulls out his phone to discreetly text Ben: **now**.

There’s three long minutes of Richie desperately attempting to not bob his leg in nervous anticipation before the doorbell rings. Bev’s head snaps up at the sound, and the resulting smile is bright enough to blind.

“There’s only one person who makes your lil ‘ol cheeks go red like that, Bevvie,” Richie comments. “Expecting a certain boy toy today?”

He already knows the answer, of course, but he finds it fun to watch her squirm. She blushes scarlet, gives him a non-lethal “Shut up, Richie!”, and flies down the stairs.

Bingo.

Her password won’t be hard to crack. Bev’s a sugary thing who’s also got a bit too much on her mind to remember a complex six-digit code. Richie’s suspicions are confirmed when he goes to unlock the phone she left on the desk, neglected in her haste to open the front door. It’s alphanumeric.

His first try is **januaryembers**. It’s a good guess, but no dice.

The second time, he types **winterfire** and watches with a deep satisfaction as her phone successfully unlocks. Richie doesn’t stop to gloat, though. He’s a man on a mission and therefore wastes no time in opening Spotify to search for Eddie’s name in her followers. He figures he has about twenty minutes before Ben can no longer hold her attention, and he plans to reserve that time to listening to his own playlist.

Giddy excitement bubbles up inside him when he sees “sassbrak07”, a horribly cringey username Richie and Eddie concocted together at the ripe age of twelve. He clicks on it, and low and behold, there they are: the private playlists in all their tantalizing, beautiful glory.

Richie wishes with everything he has that this isn’t a time-sensitive operation so he could go through them all. He only has the allowance for a speedy scroll, but it brings a smile to his face nonetheless. Each of the six is titled by nicknames, which makes the whole thing even better. Bichael, Benny and the Jets, Noodle Boy, Big Billy, and Bev-A-Licious. (Richie doesn’t want to ask about a single one of them.)

He does give them a quick once-over, though. Sure enough, each of them are comprised of different songs, jokes, memories… it really is the cutest shit in the world.

Finally, having saved the best for last, he clicks the playlist labeled “Chee” and selects the first song.

_Africa_ by Toto. Richie snorts audibly into his hand and flops himself back down on the bed. He can’t even believe Eddie put it on there; it was so long ago, an inside joke from their childhood. As it plays, Richie hums along, eyes closed and fingers drumming to the beat just like it’s his steering wheel.

_It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you  
There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do…_

He’s reminded sentimentally of the way they used to be, the tiny hypochondriac with the dorky fanny pack and the lanky foulmouth with the coke-bottle glasses, chasing each other around on the playground. Or, rather, _Richie_ chasing _Eddie_ around on the playground. (He was trying to make a friend at the time and was failing miserably.) God, Eddie despised him back then.

That was, until Richie sat next to Eddie at lunch during second grade and gave him his only Fruit Roll-Up as a peace offering. They went over to Richie’s after school that day, and when Richie’s iPod Mini (ha!) switched onto Africa, Eddie’s eyes lit up. _“Wait, I love this song!”_ It was the beginning of their lifelong friendship. Richie would never forget that.

The song ends, and Richie recognizes the second immediately. _The Only Exception_ , a Paramore classic. Richie feels himself go soft.

_I've always lived like this_  
_Keeping a comfortable distance_  
_And up until now_  
_I had sworn to myself that I'm content_  
_With loneliness,_  
_Because none of it was ever worth the risk…_

__

_But you are the only exception._

At this, tears threaten to prick at Richie’s eyes. The sentiment is as touching as it can be, and he feels a stab of guilt in knowing that Eddie most definitely did not want him listening to this. It’s fleeting, though, because Richie knows that this is an opportunity he may never get again, and he intends to cherish it. The third song begins.

Richie’s never heard this one before and checks to see what it is. _Friends_ by Ed Sheeran. Sure, he could roll with that. They were friends.

_No, we're not friends, nor have we ever been._

“Wait, what the fuck?” Richie yells aloud, eyes comically wide. “Fucking _ouch_ , Eds!”

He feels a little stupid. Was he missing something? Did Eddie not want to be his friend anymore? Did he do something to make Eddie mad? Is this about that damned free food incident at Barry’s, because —

_Shut the fuck up and just listen to the song, dickwad_ , says the voice in his head he refers to as Logical Richie. Logical Richie is almost never obeyed, but he decides to comply this time and allows the song to continue.

_Friends just sleep in another bed,_  
_And friends don't treat me like you do_  
_Well, I know that there's a limit to everything_  
_But my friends won't love me like you…_

__

Oh.

For the first time in a long time, Richie Tozier is at a loss for words. He’s numb, in fact, frozen in place on Bev’s comforter and thinking, thinking, _thinking_ , too much and too hard and too fast.

_Oh_. 

Shit.

The trance is broken by the start of the final song. Richie’s hands are trembling quietly as he goes to check the title. _Secret Love Song Pt. 2_ by Little Mix.

“Little Mix? Think I underestimated Eds’ gayness,” Richie mumbles to no one in a feeble attempt to break the tension tugging at his own heart. And then he listens.

_Why can't I say that I'm in love?_  
_I wanna shout it from the rooftops_  
_I wish that it could be like that_  
_Why can't it be like that?_  
_‘Cause I'm yours…_

_It's obvious you're meant for me_  
_Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly_  
_Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep_  
_But I'll never show it on my face…_

When Bev pushes her bedroom door open, Richie’s eyes are glassy and he’s breathing heavily and he’s startlingly _quiet_. She’s struck immediately with immense concern, moving to her best friend’s side; that is, until she notices the headphones stuck in Richie’s ears and it all connects.

“You piece of shit!” she screeches, and Richie’s head snaps up like he didn’t even realize she’s standing there. “Are you fucking kidding me? You listened to Eddie’s playlists, didn’t you? This was your master plan all along, right? _Right_? Was Ben in on this, too? You dragged that poor boy into your evil plot, huh? Hello? Answer me, Richie!”

“Bevvie,” Richie squeaks, and it’s pitiful.

Beverly Marsh, as usual, is having none of it. “Stop acting like a kicked fucking puppy and use your words, Tozier. We both know that’s what you’re best at.”

“Does he… Eddie…?”

She sighs, rubbing her temples with her thumbs like she’s got a headache. “You two are the most clueless, lovesick dumbasses I’ve ever known. Truly.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to _do_?” It’s the fear in Richie’s voice that makes Bev soften, and she plops herself down gingerly next him on the bed.

“Rich, it’s clear that he’s gone for you. What do you have to lose here?”

Richie buries his head in her pillow. “Our entire friendship, obviously,” he says miserably into the lilac sheets, but Logical Richie knows she’s right.

Bev quirks a brow, a skill Richie is endlessly jealous of but can’t quite perfect. “Tell him. We’ve watched you guys pining after each other for, like, four years straight. We were willing to tolerate it for a while and let you guys figure your shit out on your own, but no more. It ends now.”

Four years? That was since they were, what, thirteen? For the second time today, Richie feels stupid. Maybe if he wasn't such a fucking asswipe, he would’ve hiked up his skirt and kissed Eddie a long time ago and this entire fucking ordeal could’ve been avoided. He says as much to Bev, and she nods solemnly.

“So, are you gonna kiss him, or what? Like I said before, everyone’s a bit tired of waiting. _Especially_ me, ‘cause I have to listen to one of you gush about the other whenever you guys come over.”

“But, Bev, it’s _raining_ ,” Richie whines, patently searching for anything to elude confrontation. Richie hates confrontation nearly as much as he hates clowns.

“So? Show up soaking wet at his door and profess your undying love like in those cheesy-ass romance movies he loves so much. He’ll adore that shit!” She beams at him. “Also, I know for a fact that his mom’s in Waterboro visiting her sister, so no worries if you guys feel like releasing any… sexual tension while you’re over.” Bev wiggles her eyebrows and winks, and Richie feels proud as hell.

He barks out a laugh. “ _Very_ scandalous, Miss Marsh. I’m rubbing off on you, yeah?”

“Yeah, whatever. Just for future reference, though, stop being such a goddamn snoop. And later, I’m going to chew you and Ben out for manipulating me. Consider this a warning.”

“I know, Bevvie, and I’m sorry. But right now, I’ve got to go catch my man,” Richie says, grinning and sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “No time for interrogations when there’s a cute boy to woo.”

Beverly plants a kiss on his cheek. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! seriously.
> 
> this is my first attempt of a multi-chapter fic, so let me know how i’m doing if you want!


	3. finally forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow! we made it. i’m sad this little fic is done, i’ve had tons of fun writing it.
> 
> thank you so much for reading, as usual, and enjoy!

Never in his life has Richie Tozier been as petrified to knock on Eddie’s door as he is now.

It’d been a fucking nightmare to get here. He was all ready to peel out from Bev’s driveway, except when he turned the key, Baby sputtered a few times and then proceeded to stop completely. Richie yelled just about every swear he could conjure before sucking it up and straight-up sprinting home. From there, he grabbed his bike from the garage and rode all the way to Eddie’s in the midst of the summer storm.

_Pouring rain and pouring hearts_ , Richie thinks dryly. _How poetic_.

In his head, Richie runs through what he might say for maybe the thousandth time, but all sounds irritatingly stupid. _Hey, Eds, so I got a hold of your uber-exclusive Spotify playlists without your permission and now I’m here to tell you that I’m into you, too. Surprise!_

God, this is such a trainwreck, but fuck it. He knocks on the door.

When it swings open, Eddie’s standing there in a yellow t-shirt and blue short-shorts with a cheery _Derry High Track_ printed on the side. It occurs to Richie then that he’s literally, utterly, totally fucked. “Richie?”

He still hasn’t fully recovered from the trip over, so when he says, “Heya, Eds!” it comes out as a breathless croak.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what’re you doing here?” Eddie’s eyebrows lace with concern, and he folds his arms across his chest.

“I… listened.”

“Um, what?”

“I listened,” Richie pants, right hand leaning against the doorframe. “I heard.”

“Rich, you’re not making any sense right now. Why’re you so wet? Were you… in the rain? Is that your _bike_?”

“I —” Richie begins, but he pauses to catch his breath and run a hand through his dripping hair. “I’m terrible.”

“Richie, what —?”

“No! Let me finish. Fucking hell, I…” Christ, why are the words so hard to push out? “I _am_ terrible. I flipped shit at Barry’s the other day about your dumb playlists, and after I couldn’t stop fucking _thinking_ about it, and then I did, like, the worst possible thing I could’ve done, and I hacked Bev’s phone, and I fucking listened to them. Er, actually, to one. Mine, I mean. My playlist. I listened to it.”

Every color drains from Eddie’s body. He’s standing frozen now, rigid fingers gripping the doorknob like it’s a lifeline. His face is pasty-white. “Oh.”

“Yeah, and then I flipped shit _again_ and I knew I had to get to you, but then I got in my truck and Baby wouldn’t fucking start, because _of course_ she wouldn’t, so I ran all the way from Bev’s house to mine and I grabbed my bike, and it still had dust on it from, like, ninth fucking grade, can you believe that? Anyway, I pedaled my fucking ass off to get over here.” Richie’s still breathless and he’s rambling and he knows it, but he has to keep going because Eddie looks like he’s about to actually burst into tears.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I never wanted for you to listen to those. If you hate me and wanna fuck off forever, I get it, and I’m sorry.” Eddie’s voice is surprisingly strong for someone who’s world is crashing down.

Richie’s hands fly up to his hair, and he spins around quickly on his heel before facing him again. “Oh my God, shut the fuck up! What the _fuck_! No, it’s your turn to listen to me. So listen. You listening?”

It’s all Eddie can do to nod.

“I’d never fuck off. You couldn’t even get me to fuck off if you wanted to. You know why? Because I’m never fucking leaving your side. That’s why.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m fucking whipped for you, Eds. It’s damn near pathetic. You think I’d ride my bike over here in the pouring fucking rain and show up at the front door for anyone else? Fuck no! Only you. You’ve got me under your tiny-ass thumb, you know that?”

Eddie is quiet for a significant amount of time. The only thing Richie can hear is the rain pounding on the roof and his heartbeat in his ears. Then he finally spits out, “Fuck you, Richie.”

Now it’s Richie’s turn to say, “What?”

“You don’t get to _do_ this,” he growls, suddenly angry. “Invade my privacy and not even fucking apologize for it, and then you expect me to just — what? Swoon? Fall to my knees in front of you and tell you how fucking grand you are?”

“I like the sound of the falling-to-your-knees-in-front-of-me part. A lot.” Richie grins.

“Asshole!” Eddie roars, his voice rising an octave that Richie hadn’t heard him reach since middle school. “You’re a real piece of shit for coming over here and… and _manipulating_ me. You got away with it with Bev, somehow, but it’s not working for me. It’s not.”

Richie leans in close then, close enough to count all of the tiny little freckles on his nose. He breathes hot onto Eddie’s neck, delighting in the way it rakes the smaller boy’s body with goosebumps. “It’s not?”

“No.” Eddie swallows hard. He locks eyes with Richie, his face now beet-red, but he refuses to back down. “Not a chance in hell.”

Confidence boosted, Richie whispers ever-so-delicately in Eddie’s ear. “ _Are you sure_?” It’s so quiet that he almost doesn’t catch it. Almost.

The tension is suffocating. It’s aggravating, the electric current running through the air, the little lightning bolts weaving in between them. Eddie wants nothing more than to close those last few inches and finally, _finally_ —

And then Richie, the dick that he is, leans back onto his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets, leaving Eddie high and dry. Eddie is glaring at him so intensely now that it actually makes Richie question whether the redness in his cheeks are caused by him or by pure rage.

“Stop looking so smug, Richie. You don’t have me all figured out, you know,” Eddie says, venom gone from his tone and replaced with something thicker, something softer.

“I know,” Richie smirks. “But to be fair, I definitely —”

“You talk too much,” Eddie whispers, cutting him off swiftly. And then he wraps his arms around Richie’s neck and tugs him forward, their mouths crashing together like a whirlwind of storms.

You know how they say that sometimes if you wait for something, the payoff is even better? Like, with those fancy cheeses and expensive wines and stuff. Well, Richie thinks that if he had to wait his whole life just to be kissing Eddie like he is right now, gripping his waist and tasting the sugary chapstick on his lips, he’d do it. A million times out of a million, he’d wait all this time if it meant Eddie’s hands would be tangled up in his curls and their bodies would be flush together against Eddie’s front door.

Oh, hell fucking yeah, he’d do it. Because after everything, it was so, _so_ worth it.

 

When Richie and Eddie don’t show up to the weekly brunch at Barry’s the next morning, their friends don’t question it. Thanks to Beverly, they know exactly where they are and what they’re doing. Bill gets them all apple ciders on the house and, pretending like it’s champagne, he makes a toast. “Here’s to the two absent dickheads who m-managed to pull their suh-shit together after f-forever. P-Praise be to God that we don’t have to listen to them puh-pining after each other a-anymore!”

“Praise be!” They repeat in a chorus, glasses clinking and laughter exploding.

“You know,” says Bev thoughtfully after they’ve settled back into the booth, “we’re gonna have to listen to them doing a lot more stuff from now on, you guys.”

“Don’t you dare,” Stan deadpans, stabbing his pancakes with his fork and pointing it at her accusingly. “Don't even suggest it, I swear to all that is holy.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle them sucking face all the time, either,” Mike admits, rubbing his neck a little sheepishly.

The bell above the door chimes loudly, and Bill jolts out of his seat. (He’s supposed to be working right now, but honestly, how can he with everything that’s going on?)

“Who’s sucking face?” somebody yells.

And there, in the middle of Barry’s Burgers Joint, stands the aforementioned Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak, hands clasped together and eyes bright.

“You two are!” Bev yells right back, shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Eddie mutters, unlocking his fingers from Richie’s to put his face in his hands. “So everyone knows?”

“You were never one for subtlety, babe,” Richie crows, planting a smacking kiss on the side of his head.

“Says _you_ , Tozier!” Eddie squeaks, slamming his hands on Richie’s chest in indignation. This just makes Richie laugh harder, and he pulls Eddie in for a real, deep kiss right on the mouth. Eddie considers protesting (they’re in front of their friends, after all), except he’s still not quite used to how much he loves the feeling of Richie’s lips pressed against his own.

“Gross,” Stan says, but he’s smiling.

Ben scrunches up his nose. “You guys were both obvious _and_ oblivious. On record, that’s an argument neither of you can win.”

They all nod in concurrence, beginning to make room for Richie and Eddie in the booth.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, sweet children,” Richie purrs, pulling Eddie to his side by his hip. “We hate to bail, but we only stopped by to let you know we didn’t die or anything. There’s, uh —“ He licks his lips. “— still some _unfinished business_ to attend to, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down here.”

Bill cackles, and Eddie flushes pink. “Go right on ahead, loverboys. It’s cute as hell,” Bev giggles.

“So long as they don’t do whatever they’re about to do in front of me,” Stan remarks harmlessly, rolling his eyes. Mike, Bill, and Ben hum in agreement.

“Bye-bye, now,” Bev sing-songs as they leave, watching the two pile into Richie’s now-functioning truck. They’re both grinning like idiots; just as they have been, just as they should be.

She turns back to Ben. He’s laughing at something Mike just said, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, she thinks that maybe all is finally right with the world.

And that’s the best word, the only word, to use today: finally.

Because it’s true. It’s Richie and Eddie, it’s Barry’s Burger Joint, it’s her, it’s _them_. Right where they’re all supposed to be: with each other.

_Finally_.

**Author's Note:**

> all mistakes are mine. sorry this was a little short, but it’s important for the story. in other news, i can’t for richie’s master plan to unfold. songs are coming next chapter, don’t worry ;)
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


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